


bonfires burning bright (room in my coffin tonight)

by hito



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Halloween, M/M, why is it not halloween right now?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:58:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hito/pseuds/hito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles may hate Halloween, but he loves working at the Haunted House -- at least until the new girl steals his cushy job in the office. But she also introduces him to the guy he's had a crush on for years, so he supposes she can't be a <i>total</i> witch. That doesn't mean Derek isn't a vampire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bonfires burning bright (room in my coffin tonight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blue_eyed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyed/gifts).



> Written for the holiday exchange.

Stiles' favourite thing about working at the Haunted House is that he never has to be scared. Every year he sits in the booth and makes change and hands out boxes of Hot Tamales with tickets. When the line is short he can barely even see Scott slinking down the crowd, creeping up on people until he looms out of nowhere, scaring the crap out of them. 

So he's a little startled when he goes over to pick up his official tshirt and Dan tells him he's in the Blood Pit. 

"But I'm the Booth-Babe!" 

"That was sarcasm," Dan tells him. Dan is a twenty-eight year old college dropout who always wears the same Jane's Addiction tshirt, reeks constantly of weed, and has somehow managed to parlay six weeks of business management classes into an extremely profitable seasonal event company. The reindeers will arrive next week. "Allison is the Booth-Babe. See? Sarcasm, no sarcasm. Learn it, live it, love it." 

"I love working the booth," Stiles insists. 

"Too late, babe," Dan says. "Allison's already trained up." 

"You just called me babe! That wasn't sarcasm! And we can switch, I'm sure she wouldn't--" 

"Wouldn't look terrifying holding a saw, right. Do you know how to use a chainsaw? I'll run you through it, get here five minutes early Friday." 

"Maybe I could work the line with Scott," Stiles offers, though he's dubious about even that. 

It doesn't matter anyway; Dan isn't listening. He blusters, "I don't have time for this, I have to make sure this year's hayride kid isn't siphoning gas," makes some kind of imaginary military signal that he believes swears everybody to secrecy on pain of death, and launches himself across the grass, following the tyre-tracks. 

"Helpful!" Stiles yells after him. "Thanks!" 

Dan actually stops to call back, "Sarcasm!" at Stiles in an approving tone. He gives Stiles a beaming thumbs-up as he sprints away. 

"Glad somebody's happy," Stiles mutters, and trudges back to his Jeep. 

*

Scott makes him go to the indie theatre that evening, because they're showing a different modern classic every night this week, and Scott loves foreign horror with a fervour Stiles appreciates even if he doesn't quite understand. 

"They don't even do _butter_ ," Stiles complains disconsolately, same as every time they come here. "Paranormal Activity 6 is on at the multiplex, you know." 

"You shouldn't even have _popcorn_ ," Scott says critically. " _REC_ will make you _choke to death_ on your popcorn. Don't say I didn't warn you." 

"Is this like Pan's Labyrinth?" Stiles asks hopefully, because he knows better than to ask if it's going to be as good as Hellboy II. Again. 

Scott ignores him. "Tomorrow is _REC 2_ ," he says. "We're coming back. The manager says it's too soon for the others." 

"Have you met the new girl yet?" Stiles asks. 

"How long do you think something has to be out before you can call it a classic?" 

"Because I _hate_ her. Man, I hate her so much." 

"Because I say instant. Sometimes you just know." There's a snort from the other side of Stiles. "What'd she ever do to you?" 

"Stole my _job_." 

The girl beside him leans forwards to look past him into Scott's face. " _REC 3_? Really?" 

"Underrated!" Scott protests. "Man, Stiles, did you get _fired_?" 

"No," Stiles admits sulkily. "If I'd gotten fired could I claim unemployment?" 

"If you're talking underrated," the girl says, "how come this place is playing all of the Screams but no Cabin in the Woods?" 

The girl is really pretty, but Scott's interest wanes with her movie choices. 

"Cabin in the Woods isn't real horror," he says. "It's a deconstruction of the--" 

"Hah," she interrupts. "Tell that to Evil Dead II." 

Scott's eyes flare as he rebuts, "Evil Dead II is in _no way comparable_ \--" 

Stiles slumps back in his seat and tunes the conversation out, same way he always does whenever those damn trees come up. The trailers are playing, but the lights are still on, so Stiles has a clear view of the couple two rows in front when the female half loudly announces, "I know you'd rather be watching Hocus Pocus, but some of us here are grown-ups." 

Stiles' isn't the only head that turns, but he's the only person who bolts upright. 

"I don't see any," the guy mutters. 

"Hey!" Stiles whispers, interrupting whatever the girl beside him had been telling Scott about patriarchal assumptions and breaking jigsaw pieces. He's pretty sure he's heard it before anyway, maybe even from Scott. "Hot Guy from Costume Store!" 

Scott's head comes around. "Where?" he asks, almost as loud as Hot Guy's girl. 

Stiles slouches fast, dragging Scott with him, keeping his eyes trained on the guy's head. The Hot Guy works in the only real costume store in town, the place that fits all Dan's employees for their uniforms. The store is only open one month a year; Stiles has no idea who Hot Guy is or where he goes the rest of the time. Stiles hasn't had genuine reason to go there since he started working for Dan, but he goes back every year; the memory of the guy's hands dragging over Stiles' back as he'd pulled the cape into place always lures him in, despite the memory of the guy glaring at him in the mirror that always follows on its heels. 

So Stiles goes by the store every year to pick out a costume for the afterparty at work, even though everybody else's is homemade and Stiles is always too embarrassed to go up to the counter and buy anything anyway. The stalking isn't even worth it, because he hasn't gotten the guy's hands on him again, and he always gets the glare. 

"There!" He jerks his chin in the guy's direction. "Who's that girl?" 

"Derek?" the girl beside him asks. "Where?" 

"I don't think he's a hot guy!" Scott bleats. "Stiles does!" 

"You know Derek?" Stiles asks incredulously. "You know Hot Guy? Hot Guy's name is Derek? What kind of name is Derek for such a hot guy? I don't believe you!" 

"He said he was coming to this thing with his sister. He told me about it." 

"Sister!" Stiles hisses triumphantly. "Yes!" 

"I'm sure he is hot," Scott says earnestly. "Or Stiles wouldn't talk about it so much. But I just don't find guys hot. You know?" 

"Gotcha," the girl says, mouth twisting with wry amusement, eyes warming as she looks at Scott. 

Stiles fifth-wheels his way back into the conversation. "How do you know Derek?" he asks, trying to suppress the incipient jealousy. He doesn't think he does a very good job. 

"He fitted me for my uniform this afternoon," the girl says, and holds out her hand. "For my job at the Haunted House. I'm Allison. I'm--" 

"New girl!" Stiles blurts angrily, and watches Allison's fingers curl back into her palm, watches Derek's face turn to him just as the lights dim. 

He settles in to watch the film, pretending he isn't upset and grumpy, pretending he hasn't just made things really weird. 

Scott pokes him in the side. "Switch seats!" he whispers into Stiles' ear. 

"No," Stiles mutters back. "No switching allowed." 

He ignores Scott's pouting, and manages to ignore Allison entirely until he catches her eye and can't help letting out the question that's been preying on his mind since the last time she spoke. 

"So Derek isn't a vampire?" 

Her eyes widen, and she leans in. "What?" she asks quietly. 

"You know. He only works nights. We've never seen him during the day. I've never seen him when it wasn't October. It makes sense." 

It was Scott's theory, and it may not, in retrospect, make sense. Not that Stiles is admitting that to Allison. 

"No," she says slowly, "Derek isn't a vampire." 

"Just checking," Stiles tells her, and determinedly attempts to ignore the wide eyes she's throwing him. 

"So, you want to come over and watch Audition?" Scott whispers, because he's an idiot. "You'd like it." 

"Seen it," she says brightly and brusquely. "No thanks." 

"What about--" 

"This one? Yeah, I am trying." 

She's smiling, but Scott shuts up. Stiles feels like he should apologise for possibly freaking her out and blowing Scott's chances, but he's too distracted staring at the back of Derek's head, and then by staring into Derek's sister's amused face as she grins at him. 

"Shit!" 

Stiles, Scott and Allison dive out of the sister's sightline as one, so maybe Scott's chances aren't totally blown. 

"I guess he is hot," Allison mutters, "but I'm kind of weirded out that you didn't even know his name." 

"I do now," Stiles says. "Thanks, friend." 

Allison opens her mouth, shuts it. "Can we pretend I didn't tell you that?" 

"Only if we're pretending I knew it all along." 

Allison seems dubious about this, but then someone is dying onscreen and people are screaming, and Stiles is briefly afraid he's one of them, but no, he's just clutching Allison's arm, trying not to scramble behind her. 

"Oh," she says awkwardly. "Not a fan?" 

"There's a reason I work in the booth," he admits. 

"Right," she says. "Sorry about that." 

And Stiles isn't quite ready to forgive her, but she makes a pretty solid human shield, and he's forged relationships on much less. 

By the time the movie is over, Allison is ready to check out Audition with Scott. "Or maybe just the Buffy movie," she adds hopefully, before noticing Stiles' face. 

"He was my ride!" he tells her, outraged, realises he's outraged at the wrong person, and turns to Scott, repeating in an even more outraged tone, "You were my ride!" 

"Yeah, buddy," Scott says. "But--" 

He doesn't finish the explanation, evidently feeling that none is necessary in the face of Allison. 

"Scott will totally drop you off, right?" 

"But you drove yourself," Scott protests. "You were supposed to follow me right home." 

Allison looks vexed, but she's making noises about google-mapping it when there's laughter behind them and Derek's voice breaks in. 

"You're blocking the aisle." 

Stiles spins around, panicked, finds himself looking into the sister's amused eyes, and almost swallows his own tongue while trying to avoid Derek's flat stare. 

"Hi," he manages, because his stupid friends have gone mute, and somebody has to say something. 

"Hi!" Allison says, a decade too late, and elbows Scott until he lets out a high, pained grunt. 

"Hello," the sister says, smile scarily wide, and leans on her brother until he introduces her to Allison. Then she reaches out and takes Stiles' hand. "I'm Laura Hale. Do you want a ride?" 

And that's how Stiles ends up being driven home by Derek Hale and his sister. Well. By Derek Hale's sister, but that's not the part that's preoccupying his mind right now. 

He catches Laura watching him in the rear-view, and grimaces out an attempt at a smile. 

"I should have made Derek sit back there with you," she says. "That was rude, I'm sorry." 

"Uh, no," Stiles says. "That would have been weird." 

But his skin starts to flush at the thought of Derek so close, right beside him in the dark car, miles of empty seat between them fading to nothing in his mind. He sees Laura's smile grow in the mirror. 

"So, you work for Dan, right?" she says, apropos of nothing. 

"Laura," Derek says. "Please." 

"Does he ever mention me?" 

"No," Derek says churlishly. 

"Uh--" 

"Or Derek? Does he talk about me or Derek?" 

"No!" Derek says. "How many times do I have to tell you--" 

"No!" Stiles says. "He doesn't!" 

"Oh," she says, disappointed. "Wait, neither of us?" 

"Mostly he talks about Jamie Lee Curtis," Stiles tells her. "Sometimes Anthony Perkins. And sometimes the mom from Miracle on 34th Street, but that's too weird for me. I check out once the reindeers arrive." 

"You don't like _reindeers?_ " Laura asks, car swerving as she tries to turn around and gape at him. 

"This guy is such a freak," Derek mutters. "I don't get why you're into him." 

"Ditto!" 

They glare at each other furiously. Stiles is kind of glad they aren't glaring at him, and he kind of wishes Laura were glaring at the road instead of her brother, but mostly he wishes he weren't hearing this. 

"Dan?" he asks pathetically. "Really?" 

"Yes, Dan!" Laura snaps. 

Derek is way too hot for Dan, but Derek is way too hot for Stiles, too. Laura is also significantly hotter than Dan. 

"You look a little bit like Jamie Lee Curtis," Stiles offers glumly. 

This mollifies Laura somewhat, but the rest of the ride is spent with each occupant of the car sunk into their own separate glooms, silence keeping them further apart than the small distance between them. 

Stiles will go into the costume store and start test-driving potentials tomorrow, he decides, while Derek still remembers who he is. There isn't a chance Derek will do anything Stiles wants him to: he won't remember Stiles' name, or touch his skin and bones and hope through slippery black fabric, or lean in too close to change the reflection in the mirror, the way he once had. He won't smile. He probably won't remember this at all, Stiles thinks, sadness creeping up on him while he stares furtively at the back of Derek's neck, the stubble on his jaw when he turns his head to glance back at Stiles. 

Stiles' eyes dart away. He _hopes_ Derek won't remember catching Stiles staring at him like a freak. 

When Laura pulls up in front of Stiles' place she raises a hand in farewell as Stiles slides slowly across the seat towards the door. Derek doesn't acknowledge his departure until Stiles is climbing out of the car. 

"See you tomorrow," he says quietly, and Stiles trips over his own feet and almost concusses himself on the door as he closes it. 

"Sorry?" Stiles stares at Derek's shadowed face, forgetting he hadn't wanted Derek to see him doing that. 

"At the store." Derek leans forward slightly, and the streetlight catches on the lines of his face through the open window. It's a good look for him. "For your uniform. Blood Pit, right?" 

"Uh," Stiles says, mind blank. 

Derek blinks at him, waiting for an answer Stiles doesn't have, and then Laura whacks him on the back of the head. 

"Stop talking to Dan!" she says angrily. "You know he only sends those kids in because he wants to give me the business." 

"You're the only place in town that doesn't think slutty princess is a legitimate costume," Derek says. "I don't think you can take the patronage of the proprietor of the Haunted House as a declaration of undying love." 

"Can _too!_ " Laura huffs. Her eyes flicker to Stiles like she's just remembered he's still listening to this. "It's no less ridiculous than your little--" 

"I'm telling mom about--" Derek starts, making a futile attempt to match Laura in volume, but Laura peels away before Stiles can find out what threat might be awful enough to make an impact. 

"...Bye," Stiles says vaguely, and goes into the house. 

* 

The next morning, there's a text from Dan waiting for him when he wakes up, instructing him to get his ass over to Laura's for a uniform fitting. 

"Great," he says. " _Thanks_ , Dan." 

Despite Dan's doubts, Stiles is entirely au fait with the application of sarcasm. He chooses to resent Dan for forcing him to deploy it so often, because he doesn't want to dwell on the other things he resents Dan for right now. 

Stiles rolls over and goes back to sleep, and when he eventually gets out of bed he has other things to do, he swears, like clean the stove, he's been meaning to do that for _whole minutes._ So it's purely coincidental that it's after dark when he makes it to the costume store, and Derek is slumped behind the counter, a surly, silent, dominating presence that stops Stiles dead for a second, as if Derek is a revelation, a surprise of any kind. 

Seeing Derek is always a _shock,_ though, a shock to his system, to his washed-clean mind. 

Derek is watching him, had watched him come through the door, and Stiles' brain doesn't have the chance to complete its reboot, because when Derek flashes a brief, blinding smile at him and murmurs a low greeting, Stiles is moving towards him without a thought, choice not an option, or maybe just long past. 

"Hey," Stiles says. "Guess you know what's on my schedule better than I do." 

"Dan always sends his employees over for a new uniform when they change roles," Derek tells him. 

"And he discusses the minutiae of his workday with you." 

"Dan thinks everybody's interested in his stuff," Derek says, sounding bored, "But no. He calls ahead to tell us what he needs since that time he sent someone over for a Chainsaw Massacre and they came back as the Bride of Chucky." 

"Can I have a Hellraiser?" Stiles asks hopefully. "I want a Hellraiser." 

"No," Derek says, getting to his feet and strolling away through the racks. "Sorry. You're an insane, homicidal medical practitioner--honestly, the costume isn't much. That one isn't even in the make-up, it's in the expression." 

"Can you stop talking?" Stiles says abruptly. 

"Okay," Derek says, blinking once before turning away. 

"Because this is not a reassuring conversation for me," Stiles continues. "I was nervous enough before you told me that I would need _expressions_." Derek is staring down at him, mouth slightly open. "I don't think I can do expressions," Stiles decides mournfully. 

"I think you'll manage," Derek says dryly, licking his lips and shutting his mouth firmly. Stiles isn't staring, or anything. He just notices. He notices when Derek frowns, too, but he doesn't like that as much. "How come you never came back?" 

"What?" Stiles asks blankly. Derek's lips are parted again as he waits for an answer, which is preventing Stiles from being able to give him one. It's _distracting_. 

"You never came back for a new uniform," Derek says, and Stiles means to reply, but his brain stutters to a stop, and his vocal cords get tangled up in the threads of his disbelief. "People get fired or they come back. You never came back." 

Stiles is still trying to process the fact that Derek _knows_ that, that Derek _noticed_ his presence and his absence, noticed him at all, when Derek plucks a tattered, bloodstained doctor's coat off a rail. 

"I never needed a new costume," Stiles says, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. "I never switched roles." 

"Huh." Derek doesn't comment, just holds the article of clothing out. Stiles doesn't need the direction; he's already staring at a tarnished button, world beyond the dirty white cloth blurring and fading. He blinks, trying to keep focus. 

"Can I have a stethoscope?" 

"Not in the budget," Derek says impatiently. "Come on." 

"Budget?" 

"Thirty bucks," Derek tells him, and when Stiles makes an outraged face he adds, "Your last one was twelve." 

"Twelve dollars!" He's worn that stupid costume for years. All twelve _dollars_ of it. 

"Allison's was ten," Derek says blandly. "Recession." 

Stiles gives a reluctantly mollified humph, and takes the coat. Derek takes it back, undoes the single fastened button, and holds it out, ready for Stiles to slip his arms into the sleeves. 

Stiles does it, but he feels really awkward until Derek's hands settle on his shoulders; then he just feels like he's about to jump out of his skin. Derek's hands turn Stiles to the side, and then his eyes are on Stiles in the full-length mirror on the wall, on the buttons of the coat as he does them up. 

Stiles' eyes are on Derek's hands, but he doesn't really see them, isn't aware of much beyond the warm pressure of Derek's knuckles as they drag up his torso. 

"Wrong size," Derek decides, startling Stiles into actually looking at his own reflection. 

"Oh, but--" 

"Next one down." 

"But my uniform is supposed to be baggy!" Stiles protests in dismay. 

"Not your lab coat." Derek is already holding out the replacement size. 

"And black," Stiles continues. Objections are occurring to him faster than he can spill them out. "Nobody ever noticed when I spilled coffee down my uniform. Because it was black!" 

"Did that happen a lot?" 

" _Yes_ ," Stiles answers, though he doesn't think Derek expects a reply. "Because I drink a lot of coffee! What am I supposed to do if I can't drink coffee?" 

"Stimulants are bad for you," Derek says critically, and Stiles gapes at him in the mirror, cranks his head around to stare at the real thing. 

Stiles says stuff like that to other people: other people do not say stuff like that to him. "Man, that is annoying," Stiles says, and then, outraged, "Why did nobody ever tell me how annoying that is before? I would've cut that crap out!" 

"No you wouldn't," Derek says, "but can you cut it out now?" 

"What?" 

Derek makes an exasperated noise low in his throat, flings the outfit he's holding over the top of a railing of child-sized Frankenweenie costumes, and starts unbuttoning Stiles' coat. The process goes more quickly this time, Stiles thinks, but he's too distracted to be sure. The coat gets caught on Stiles' elbows, and Derek spends a couple seconds working it off. Stiles spends those few seconds trying to catch his breath, though he knows it's ridiculous to have lost it. 

The movements of Derek's hands are less impatient when he's helping Stiles shrug into the second size, when he's buttoning Stiles back up, settling the material onto Stiles' shoulders with minute, businesslike adjustments, when he's smoothing the fabric down with broad, long sweeps of his palms over Stiles' body. 

"Yeah," Stiles says, still breathless, mindless now, though there's no reason for it. He hasn't looked at his reflection, though he doesn't notice that until Derek puts his hand on Stiles' jaw to turn it towards the mirror, away from Derek's face over Stiles' shoulder, away from Derek's mouth, right beside his, and once he's let himself notice that, he isn't really capable of noticing anything else. "Yeah," he says again, all his attention on the warmth of his back where Derek's chest is lightly pressed against it, on the warmth of Derek's fingers where they're curled around his hip. 

"Yeah," Derek decides, and drops his hand, steps back. 

Stiles is still reeling from the touch, so he doesn't have time to react to its sudden absence before Derek is back, holding out pants. "Try them on," he says, gesturing towards the store's fitting room, a piece of thick canvas attached to a railing that forms a tiny cubicle when closed. The coat reaches his knees, so he feels a little silly going inside to get changed, but he does it because Derek clearly expects him to; because he's afraid he's going to embarrass himself; because he needs a little space. 

He feels twitchy once he's hidden behind the cloth covering, once he can't see Derek. He listens for Derek's breathing, for the sound of movement beyond the canvas, but he can't hear anything. 

"You should take as many new uniforms as you can get away with," Derek says, and the unexpectedness of his voice, close and low, makes Stiles jump embarrassingly high. He flushes, though there's no way Derek can know. "Most people come in every year. Dan kind of trades in favours like that. Laura doesn't charge for it, but she makes him give her twelve family passes every year." Stiles isn't really listening, because he's getting ready to go out there again. "And maybe our family is big, but nobody's family is that big." 

Stiles sweeps back the curtain and sidles out. Derek's mouth tightens as he checks his work over. 

"You should come back next year. Get an upgrade." 

"I might not make it through this year," Stiles admits miserably. "I hate being scared." 

Derek is reaching out to touch again, to touch the coat, Stiles knows, but he still curses himself when Derek's hand stops in midair. He's looking at Stiles, mouth slightly open, and that's some compensation, but not enough. "You--" 

"I hate Halloween," Stiles says. "I hate scary movies. I hate zombies, and I hate vampires, even the kissyface eternal virgin kind, and I hate werewolves." 

"Ah--" 

"I hate Gremlins, especially at Christmas. Who would want to ruin Christmas like that? What kind of a Christmas movie is _Gremlins_?" 

"Almost as good as Die Hard--" 

"And _I hate Cujo_. He is a _bad dog_. And that dumb car. And clowns. Not even just the murderous kind. And _doctors that try to kill people._ " 

There's silence when Stiles' outburst dies away. "The costume is fine," Derek says. "And you're supposed to be scaring other people. I think you might enjoy that." 

"Wait," Stiles says. "What kind of doctor am I supposed to be? Because Dan said I'd have a bonesaw, right, so I should be a surgeon? But I can't have a stethoscope if I'm a surgeon." 

Derek's eyebrow goes up as much because of Stiles' attempt to reel in the previously denied accessory as because of the change of subject. 

"But who would even know I was a doctor without a stethoscope? I could be a _scientist_." 

"Maybe you are," Derek agrees. "Maybe you're Frankenstein. We don't provide your character's work history, Stiles. Do you need shoes?" 

He's looking at Stiles' feet, and Stiles feels his toes curl uncomfortably. He thinks Derek can probably see the spasm through the socks, so he tries to straighten them out, but they don't quite make it all the way. "I have shoes," Stiles says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the changing room. 

"I mean do you have shoes that could reasonably pass as a doctor's," Derek tells him, mouth curving in amusement. "I wasn't asking whether you'd lost your Adidas somewhere in the five feet you moved away." 

"I have shoes for church," Stiles suggests. 

Derek hums, allowing it. "You have four dollars left," he says. 

The stethoscope is eight, but Derek throws it in anyway. 

*

Scott calls him the next afternoon. 

"Why did Hot Guy from Costume Store mug me for your number just now?" he asks, sounding irritable. 

"We're not calling him that anymore," Stiles informs Scott. "He's a real person now. Wait, what?" 

"Yeah," Scott says. 

"Did you give it to him?" Stiles squeaks, hardly knowing which possibility has him feeling so alarmed. 

"He's pretty big," Scott says. "Plus sometimes his face gets pretty scary. Sorry." 

"You don't sound sorry," Stiles tells him, properly indignant now that his heart is calming. 

"I can pretend?" Scott offers. "But can you leave me out of it? Because I have another date with Allison tonight, and I don't want him weird-facing her. I think he was wearing something from the store, and man, it was freaky. Tell him to leave it at work." 

Stiles' phone vibrates against his cheek as it receives a text, and he burbles something out at Scott and hangs up so he can read it. 

It says, _Dan owes you two years of uniforms_. 

" _Ooo_ kay," Stiles says, adds Derek's number to his phone, and texts back, _I'd rather stick with my old one_. 

_You should come in,_ Derek replies. _I'll fit you for more_. 

Stiles' fingers clench around the smooth curves of his phone. He can't think of a thing to say. He thinks about driving over there, but he doesn't think Derek is at work right now. Eventually, he sends back, _You must really want more people to fit_. 

He doesn't even know what that means. 

There's a longer interval before he gets, _I hate fitting people_. 

Stiles remembers Derek's hands on the buttons of his costume, on his shoulders and chest and his hips, and he wonders how much adjustment a Halloween costume really needs. 

He doesn't give himself time to consider, just sends over, _Honoured, man_. 

He isn't sure what he's expecting--smirking agreement, maybe, or something more unkind--but the screen of his phone goes black, and nothing arrives to light it up again. 

*

Dan makes him model his new uniform before he'll give it the thumbs-up, and then he gives it the literal thumbs-up while saying, "Awesome creepy old man shoes, dude. Very accurate. Did Laura give you those because she's into me?" 

" _These are my shoes,_ " Stiles says. 

"Oh," Dan says. "But she's into me, right?" 

"I wear them to _church_." 

"That would explain it." 

"Do you know Laura?" Stiles asks. "I had no idea. She didn't mention you at all." 

"But you did, right?" 

"Why would I mention you?" 

Dan's shoulders slump. The tee today is Foo Fighters; Dan is breaking his years-long streak of living in his own filth. 

"Why do I even send you guys over there," he mutters, turning away dejectedly. 

"Sell out," Stiles hisses, and ducks behind the oncoming crowd of assorted terrifying ghouls before Dan can grab him. 

"One Hot Minute is--slightly underrated!" Dan yells over the heads of the people separating them. "And Navarro's work on the guitar is a thing of genius and joy!" 

Stiles bumps into Allison once he makes it through the swarm. 

"Hi, Stiles," she says brightly. "Dan says you're supposed to show me how to work the register." 

"Fine," he huffs. "But I still don't like you." That's a lie, because Stiles has mastered lying too, much like stupid Dan, with his stupid lies about having trained Allison already. "Job-thieving dater of best friends." 

"Just one," she says, dimpling as she slips her hand through his arm and drags him off to the office. 

He's getting pretty fond of Allison, but he's still in a bad mood when he leaves her to run through everything one more time on her own, so he doesn't let himself think about what he's doing until he's parked in front of the costume store. 

And then he goes in anyway. 

Derek is sitting behind the desk again, watching him approach. 

"Hey," Stiles says nervously, slapping his palms down on the counter, hoisting himself up and letting his arms support his weight, just so he has something to do. 

"Coming over?" Derek asks, leaning back, utterly relaxed, gaze tracking down Stiles' body. The desk is only waist high, so there's quite a lot of it on display. 

Stiles considers it, considers launching himself across the counter and into Derek's lap, wonders what that might do to Derek's controlled amusement. He sets himself back down instead. "Nah, just restless, sorry. What's your favourite scary movie?" 

"In for another uniform?" 

"Forgot to ask Dan," Stiles tells him. He hadn't forgotten, but he'd been too afraid that Dan would say yes, that he'd have to come back here and have Derek touch him again. That he'd get to do that. He breathes out. "Just looking for something to wear to the work party." 

"The Howling," Derek says suddenly, and Stiles blinks at him until he remembers. 

"Oh. Old school. Not that scary." 

"What's yours?" 

"Have you ever seen The Witches?" Stiles asks. "I couldn't sleep alone for a month. I never wanted to go back to school." 

"You really don't like scary things," Derek says, thoughtful. 

"Or maybe I Walked With a Zombie," Stiles offers. "I'm not sure." 

"I've never heard of that." 

"I've seen everything," Stiles says glumly. "Scott makes me watch 'em all." 

"So don't," Derek says, rising, and when Stiles tilts his head back to look at him, his eyes are a bright challenge. "If you don't enjoy it you shouldn't do it." 

"Scott's my friend." Stiles can't look away. "It's no big deal." Derek breaks their gaze and sits back down abruptly, and Stiles deflates, stumbles a little as he takes the opportunity to back away. "I'm just going to look--" 

"If you're scared of everything and everything you do is because you're scared," Derek says flatly, "that's a big deal." 

"It would be," Stiles says furiously, "if it were true," and flings away into the animal suit section. 

He thinks about storming out of the store, but then he realises he's holding a gorilla suit up like he's trying to hide behind it, and he drops it on the ground and storms back to Derek instead. 

"You don't know anything about me," he says calmly. 

"That's true," Derek says, staring at his computer. It's the first time Stiles has seen him look at it. "And I really shouldn't. This was stupid. You don't need to keep coming back this year. You never buy anything anyway." 

"Great," Stiles says blankly. "Thanks for that." 

"Good luck tomorrow night," Derek says to his back. Stiles keeps walking. 

*

Stiles probably has a lot to do the next day, because it's his first night pretending to be a dead psychiatrist or a serial-killing veterinarian, or a postal particle physicist or whatever, but the only thing he makes time to do is swing by the costume store. 

He slams through the door and he slams his hands down on the counter, and he yells, "What the hell is his problem?" 

Laura smiles politely at him through every second of this, and then she grits out, "I will take your head off its neck. _Children_." 

When Stiles looks around, a kindergarten teacher from Pleasantville is glaring at him, looking like she's ready to tackle him with the rubber knife in her hand, and several of the students from the montessori down the road look like they're going to cry. 

"Aha!" he coughs out, wincing. "Sorry." 

"You will be," the terror in the twinset says, and then Laura shoves him into the changing room and yanks the canvas closed. 

Stiles has to listen to a truly frightening amount of low-voiced invective while the teacher makes her purchases, but the store is empty when Laura draws the curtain back. 

"Oh my _god_ ," Stiles says. "I thought kids were _banned_." 

"Normally we don't let anybody in a fairy costume past the door," Laura agrees, and Stiles almost whimpers when he remembers tiny Tinkerbell's trembling lips. "But Marlene is family, and her ideas on education are really kind of--" 

"Okay," Stiles says. 

"I wouldn't go that far," Laura says. "She isn't _terrible_ , but--" 

"What is your brother's problem?" 

Laura stares at him. Her lips twitch. "You're going to learn not to give me an opening like that," she says, and strides to the front door to flip the sign around. 

"That's--encouraging," Stiles says. Encouraging and befuddling. 

"He's an idiot," Laura says, sitting down on the leather stool behind the desk, leaning against the wall, and pulling out a sandwich. "He's worse than Dan sometimes. But he says you're scared of monsters and you expose yourself to them anyway." Her eyes twinkle for a second, and then the merriment dies. "I can understand how that would be a problem for him." 

"This isn't really helping me," Stiles says. "You sound like Yoda." 

"Yeah," she says, barking out a laugh. "But I can't really explain, sorry. It's a shame, because little dude is so into you." 

"Uh," Stiles says. "He is?" 

"Man, he might as well be writing Mr and Mr all over his textbooks in pink sparkly marker," Laura says gleefully. "He is _ridiculous_. It's the greatest." 

"He doesn't know me," Stiles says blankly. "He doesn't even know who I am. We met two days ago!" 

"To be fair," Laura says, attention on the contents of her sandwich, one finger pushing an unruly onion into place, "You have been coming around stinking of sex at him for three years." 

" _Uh_ ," Stiles says, "I have _not!_ " 

"Not actual sex," she corrects, sounding annoyed. "You know, _your_ sex, like-- _desire_ ," she finishes primly, rolling her eyes. "He was always going to notice." And then, oddly defensive, "It isn't his fault you didn't know he'd notice." 

"Notice _what_ ," Stiles says, lost. "I didn't _do_ anything, I barely even--" 

She's shaking her head, putting the remains of her sandwich down on the counter, rising to her feet so she can take his arm. "This isn't a good scene for you. You should go home." 

She's towing him along in her wake, but he tries, "I want to know what's--" 

She's still shaking her head. "You really don't." 

Stiles spins to face her. "I want to figure this out," he says, frustrated and honest. 

"It doesn't matter," she says, "you wouldn't be able to handle it if you did," and shuts the door in his face. 

*

"And what the _hell_!" Stiles complains to Allison, having stopped in the office on his way into work for precisely that purpose. "What the hell was that about?" 

"Some people like aggression," Allison says sweetly. "Scott certainly does." 

" _Ew_ ," Stiles says. "Did _not_ need to know!" 

"Stiles!" Dan yells from somewhere in the line that's already forming out front. 

"Coming!" He turns back to Allison to say, "You should not be giving advice to anybody if you think a guy's best friend needs to know stuff like that." 

He tumbles out the door, and Allison raises her plastic barrier to yell, "Go for it," at him, and, fainter as he sprints towards Dan, "Good luck!" 

He isn't even sure which of his situations she's referring to, but he appreciates the sentiment either way. 

"Inside, inside!" Dan tugs him inside the House, through the corridors that are workmanlike and utilitarian in the harsh light pouring down. "So, chainsaw," Dan says, once they get to his room. 

"Hi, Stiles," Erica says from the corner, bloody and bored, picking at her chipped nailpolish. 

"Victim of the evening," Dan says, waving vaguely at her. 

"Hi," Stiles says, and, "Wait, _chainsaw?_

"Chainsaw!" Dan says enthusiastically. 

"I thought I was a doctor! I thought I had a surgical saw!" 

"No," Dan says. "Doctor with a chainsaw." 

"How does that even make sense?" 

"It will sound scary in the dark," Dan says, and forces Stiles to learn how to use a chainsaw. 

Stiles means to concentrate on the job, try and give something approaching an acceptable performance, he really does, but he's thinking about Derek before teenagers start streaming through, and none of the shrieks or giggles are enough to distract him. _Go for it_ , Allison had said, and fuck Derek if he thinks Stiles won't. Stiles will _totally_ go for it, and he doesn't even _need_ luck. And screw Derek if he thinks Stiles _does_ , because Stiles can make his own luck, and Stiles can make Derek-- 

He thinks about _that_ for a while, and then Erica is saying, in the lull between groups, "About twenty minutes, you think?" 

"Huh?" 

"Twenty minutes til we're done?" 

It's half past ten. 

"Maybe." 

"You're doing well for your first night." 

"Yeah," Stiles says, as another frightened, laughing group hurtles towards them. 

And this time he listens to their screams and earns himself some more. 

* 

"Uniforms in the office!" Dan bellows, same as every other night Stiles has worked here, but this time Stiles isn't the one collecting. 

He tosses his costume to Allison with a tired grin, and staggers over to Dan, throwing an arm around his shoulder for balance. "Hey, man. What time does Laura's close?" 

"Closed," Dan says briefly, and draws breath for another bellow. 

Before Dan can deafen him, Stiles asks, casually, "So where do Laura and Derek live?" 

"Why?" Dan asks suspiciously, eyes narrowing. 

Stiles raises his hands in surrender. "Laura's all yours," he says. "Although I never said that. I'm looking for Derek." 

Dan's fur sleeks down hysterically quickly. He gives Stiles the address. 

The Hale place is all the way out in the woods, and it's late by the time Stiles gets there, but there are a couple of bedroom windows glowing behind curtains, and a single light is on downstairs. 

Stiles thinks about texting Derek and getting him to come outside, but in the end, he jogs up the steps and raps lightly on the front door. 

The terror in the twinset opens it, and she may be wearing a nightgown and holding a cup of cocoa, but she is no less a terror for that. "Hi!" Stiles gulps out. "Marl--Mar--Laur--said you were related, but I wasn't expect--Derek!" Stiles is pleased to have gotten out a whole name. "Is Derek in?" 

She glares poisonously, and then there's the sound of hurrying footsteps on stairs and Derek is behind her. Derek is shoving her out of the way. 

Stiles isn't sure how her cocoa doesn't spill, and for a second he thinks she's actually going to dump the cup out on Derek's head, but in the end she just makes a disgusted sound and runs upstairs, yelling for Laura. 

Derek comes out, pulling the door behind him. 

"Is that door closed?" Stiles asks, and doesn't wait for an answer before shoving Derek back against it, pushing up on the balls of his feet, pushing up against Derek until he can get to Derek's gasping mouth. 

Stiles has kissed enough people that the only thing new about this is how mad with it he is, how out of control. Derek's skin is warm underneath his hands, warm and bare everywhere Stiles touches, as if Stiles has pulled him out of bed for this, as if Derek might still be rumpled and sleepy and malleable, and something in Stiles surges at the thought. His tongue is inside Derek's mouth, because Derek's head is tilted back against the wood of the door, open to let Stiles in, and Stiles takes everything he's being given and tries for more. 

He thinks he feels his nails dig into Derek's skin, but maybe he's wrong, because his hand is in Derek's hair, pulling his head back so Stiles can lick at the roof of his mouth, so Stiles can bite at the stretch of his throat, and that's when Derek snaps into action, when Derek's hands tighten on Stiles' hips and pull them in, pull them together, and Stiles moans sharply at the rub, Derek's skin still between his teeth, and that's when the door opens and they both tumble through, steadied by Laura's hands. 

"Derek," she says forbiddingly, and in a more worried tone, "Stiles." 

He doesn't know what she thinks she has to be worried about. 

"Laura," Derek says, sounding dazed. "Ah--" 

"So you're not into Dan, right?" Stiles asks, just to be sure. 

" _Dan_?" The incredulity in Derek's voice is enough of an answer. 

Laura slaps at Stiles until he lets Derek go, takes a step back. He can see the mark of his teeth on Derek's neck, can see scratches on Derek's shoulders he doesn't remember making. When he looks away from Derek's chest, Laura's face is mocking, but she doesn't address Stiles, turning instead to Derek and saying, sweetly, "Mom's up. You two woke her." 

Derek's eyes fly to the ceiling and then back to Stiles, and he says, quickly, "I'll see you tomorrow," and shuts the door in Stiles' face. 

Stiles gapes. He's laughing softly when Derek pulls the door open, leans out to brush a kiss over Stiles' mouth, and shuts the door firmly again. 

"Gotcha," Stiles says quietly, and goes home grinning. 

* 

The next day, Stiles gets to Laura's store before she leaves. She lets him sit on the counter to wait for Derek. 

"You'd never guess he was twenty-three," she tells Stiles. "But he's an honest-to-God adult, I swear." 

"Yeah," Stiles says. "I get that a lot." 

"Hmm," she says, drawing the sound out. "You're eighteen, right?" 

"Nineteen!" Stiles protests, offended. He gets that a _lot_. 

Derek walks through the door, and smiles when he sees Stiles, and that makes Stiles grin helplessly, the knowledge of it, the brightness in Derek's face. 

"I'm leaving," Laura says. Derek raises an eyebrow, but when she loftily adds, "I don't need to see this," he doesn't disagree. 

Stiles stays where he is, watches as Derek walks towards him, and when Derek's within reach, he curls a leg around Derek's thighs and pulls him in. Derek's hands end up on Stiles' head, curving around his skull, and they explore the territory, fingers stroking down over his scalp, and down and down until they're running over the nape of his neck. Thumbs stroke over his cheekbones, and fingers press at the corners of his lips where they're kissing, press into the flesh and change the shape of his mouth from the outside, and when Derek's finger slides behind his ear and strokes at the soft skin there, Stiles starts to lose track. 

" _Excuse_ me!" a voice says. 

So Stiles isn't entirely sure how Derek's hands got so far up his back under his shirt, or, in fact, how that shirt got so far open, but the woman standing in the doorway doesn't look like she cares, so he stops wondering. 

"I'm looking for Elvira," she says. 

"Back wall, right hand side," Derek says. "All the sizes are on display." 

He's kissing Stiles again before she's out of sight, but when she returns with her purchase he pauses to ring her up. 

*

Stiles comes back the next day, and the day after. 

"Sick of the sight of your face," Laura says, on the fourth day. 

"I don't do masks," Stiles says. 

"Damn it," she sighs, dropping the Scream head back into the clearance bowl. "Should we half-price the goblin faces too?" she asks Derek. 

He shrugs, same answer he's had to all her other questions. 

"You should dress up your family," Stiles suggests. "I'd say you should decorate your house, but I'm not sure it's possible for a house to be more Halloween." 

"We don't even get trick-or-treaters," Laura complains. 

"It's too far out," Derek explains. 

"You should dress up your family and throw a Halloween party," Stiles says. " _I'd_ come. And if certain bosses got wind of the idea they'd be beating down your door." 

"No," Laura says regretfully. "Mom'd never let us. Plus, Halloween's your afterparty this year. Sunday, last night of the haunting." 

"Is that Halloween?" 

"You don't know when Halloween is?" 

"I hate Halloween," Stiles says. "You could have it the day before." 

"We're not having a party," Derek says, and the words rumble through his chest, through Stiles, pressed into Derek's lap. 

"You're so grumpy," Stiles says. "And unsociable. Is it because you're a vampire?" 

Derek freezes beneath him. 

"What?" he asks. 

"Because I might be grumpy and unsociable if I were a vampire, but nobody could ever be as grumpy as _you_." 

"I'm not a vampire," Derek says slowly. 

"Are you sure?" Stiles asks, tipping his head back onto Derek's shoulder so he can squint up at him. "I've never seen you in the daylight." 

"It's daylight right now!" Laura says. Her voice is sharp, and when Stiles looks over at her, she has wider eyes than he thinks the conversation demands. 

"It's dusk," Stiles says. "I've never seen him at _noon_." 

"You should come over for lunch tomorrow," Laura says. 

"Laura!" Derek whispers furiously. 

"Right, I know," she says. "But mom and dad won't even be there!" 

"Laura," Derek says flatly. 

"Right." 

"I'm coming," Stiles says. 

"Ah," Laura says awkwardly. Her hands spread wide, palms out, displayed to Stiles. There's a certain beseechment in the gesture, he thinks, a request that he accept her rejection. "That was an impulse. That was a bad idea." 

"It's been a good idea so far," Stiles says, fingertips drifting over Derek's knuckles where they're splayed on his stomach. 

"You don't know anything about us," Derek says, and Stiles knows that's true, he does, and that's why he's going. 

"You don't want to know anything about us," Laura says, and Stiles hears _wouldn't be able to handle it_ , and he thinks Laura must see that in his face, because she backs the hell down and takes Derek with her. 

Derek gives in to inevitability with a good grace, but his body slumps dejectedly under Stiles, and his final opinion on the matter is a gloomy pronouncement of, "Mom is going to _kill_ us." 

Laura doesn't disagree. 

*

Mama Hale isn't home when Stiles arrives for lunch, but Derek's eyes keep darting around suspiciously, even after Laura slaps the side of his head. 

"This is all your fault," Derek says grumpily. 

"Which part?" Laura asks. 

" _All_ of it." 

"I make him do the fittings," she tells Stiles, teeth crunching through a slice of apple. "That's why. Where's the salami?" 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Stiles asks. 

"Oh, you know," Laura says vaguely, and then Derek dumps the meat decisively in front of her, and she's too busy to speak. When the salami is gone, she appears to have forgotten what they were talking about, turning to Derek and saying instead, "This is going well. Nobody's even here!" 

Marlene isn't here, much to Stiles' relief. And it wouldn't matter if Derek's mom _were_ here, because moms _love_ him, he doesn't even know what Derek is worrying about. He's letting himself relax when a dead weight hits his back, forcing him forwards into the kitchen counter. 

"Alex!" Derek moves toward Stiles' assailant, but Laura slaps his head a couple more times and he falls back. Stiles wonders if he should be worried that he finds Derek attractive even when he's seething and surly, like he is now, and then Derek turns to look at him, eyes dark and hot with anger, and Stiles' fingers bite into the countertop, and when he feels a nudge against his back, he turns to see what's going on out of sheer self-defence. 

There's a little kid pushing his nose into Stiles' stomach. 

"Alex," Derek says again. 

The kid looks up. He's six or seven years old, and his wild golden curls are doing his cherubic face a lot of favours. Innocent blue eyes gaze up solemnly, and then Stiles' freshly-pressed shirt is rucked halfway up his chest and there's a nose digging into his stomach. 

Stiles squawks. 

"Alex!" Laura says sharply, and the kid backs away, but not like he means it. 

"Where's my dad?" Alex asks. 

"Woods," Derek says. "Go find him." 

"Uh," Stiles says, feeling like he should object, but not quite knowing how to do so. 

"Who's this?" Alex ignores Derek's attempt at sending him into the woods to perish from exposure, or get eaten by wolves or cannibalistic freaks, or whatever it is woods have in store for unwary children nowadays. "He smells funny." 

" _Hey_ \--" Stiles objects. He does _not_ smell funny, thank you very much, devil-child. If anything, he smells _expensive_. 

"He's new," Laura says, and absent-mindedly holds out a slice of ham to Alex. He eats it from her hand. 

Stiles is still trying to decide if that's weird when a little girl appears in the doorway behind Alex, blinks at Stiles for a second, and then rushes forwards so that she can greet him with her nose. 

Alex apparently takes this as a declaration of open season on Stiles' stomach, because his nose joins the girl's as it nuzzles around Stiles' belly button. His shirt stays down this time, but it's still freaking him out, and he kind of wants to shove the kids away, but they're _kids_ , and when he looks up for help, Derek and Laura are just standing there, eyeing the scene warily. 

"Guys," Stiles says, "Little help?" 

The kids' noses are rubbing against his shirt like it's some kind of comforter when Derek says, "Okay, guys, come on," and starts to move. 

Another person joins them in the kitchen before Derek gets anywhere, though. It's a man, older than Derek, and Stiles freezes for a second, wondering if this is Derek's dad. 

"Uncle Peter," Derek says, voice sounding resigned. 

"Alex," Uncle Peter says indolently. 

Both children release Stiles immediately. "It was Sarah's idea," Alex lies. 

"Girls don't like it when you blame them for stuff," Stiles says. 

"She isn't a girl." Alex wrinkles his nose. "She's my cousin." 

"Another cousin?" Stiles asks. 

"I have--" Alex says, and starts counting on his fingers. He runs out before he comes up with a grand total of cousins. 

"Alex is dumb," Sarah says. "Marlene says he should stick to the crayons." 

Stiles thinks this might be true, because Marlene is some kind of joy-sucking _jackal_ , but Alex shouts, "Does not!" and swings a hand at Sarah's chest, fingers curled oddly, robbing the attack of any power or potential to hurt. 

Peter catches the hand before it connects, and without looking away from Stiles asks, "Derek. Who's this?" 

At least he doesn't start sniffing. 

"Leaving," Derek says, "He's leaving." 

"You can have your Trix to go," Laura agrees, and opens the back door while Derek yanks on Stiles' shoulder to get him through it. 

"Nice to meet you!" Stiles calls back. The children just stare curiously, but Uncle Peter smiles and raises a hand in farewell. 

"I think that was kind of weird," Stiles says in Laura's car on the way back into town, chomping through his soggy cereal. "Was I supposed to think that was normal?" 

"It is," Derek says. 

"No," Laura says firmly, glaring at Derek. "That went well. But Uncle Peter is slightly advanced for a first attempt." 

"I'd rather he'd met Mom," Derek says, and Stiles ignores all the negativity in the statement and lets himself be warmed by it. 

When they get back to the store, Laura drops them off out front and vanishes. 

"Home alone?" Stiles asks, and when Derek grins and responds, "And not open until one," Stiles smiles back and follows him inside. 

Derek normally talks a lot more when Laura isn't around, but Stiles can't regret the lack of words when Derek is pushing him down behind the counter, onto a pile of unopened costumes, mouth nipping down his neck as his hands pull Stiles' shirt apart. Stiles isn't sure what he's expecting Derek to do with his bare chest, but he certainly isn't expecting Derek to run his nose over it, much the same way his cousins had. Stiles thinks maybe that should be creepy, but before he can form an opinion Derek is nudging his arm up and shoving his nose into Stiles' _armpit_ and inhaling deeply, like--like Stiles doesn't even _know_ , and then he's sucking the sweat from Stiles' skin and Stiles doesn't even know what to _do_ with that. 

He probably doesn't have to know, though; it's going to happen anyway. 

He's pushing his hands helplessly against Derek's back, trying to get Derek to do something that will make some kind of _sense_ when a voice calls, "Hello? Hello? I'm looking for Shaun of the Dead?" 

Derek is still fully dressed, so he can rise easily. He leaves Stiles with nothing but the drag of his tongue across a nipple, and Stiles can't regret the lack of words when it means the customer will remain blissfully ignorant of Stiles' presence. 

He can regret that Derek doesn't know how to _lock a door_ , though. 

* 

"You spend a lot of time in a costume store for someone who doesn't like Halloween," Derek says later. 

"The costumes weren't the draw," Stiles says before he thinks about it. It makes Derek smile at the computer screen. 

"I should hope not, since you never bought any." 

"Laura says you noticed--" Stiles starts, thoughts running away with him before he can leash his tongue. 

Derek's hands still on the keyboard, and he's playing minesweeper between sales, so this is a problem. The clock will run out. 

"Noticed that you came by every day and went through everything a hundred times?" Derek asks after a second. "I have to fold this stuff, you know." 

"Laura said you--noticed I wanted you." 

That hadn't been what she'd said. Stiles thinks of the words she'd used, _stinking of sex_ , and thinks of small noses rubbing against his stomach, thinks of Derek's deep inhalations of his scent, of the attention he pays to the smells Stiles thinks anyone else would stay away from. 

He wonders if that's some kind of kink. 

"You do," Derek says, and looks away from his game to smile wryly at Stiles. "Which works out for me." 

Stiles feels like Derek is ducking, but he isn't sure how to argue that response, and then a customer approaches with a witch costume and by the time she's leaving, Derek is changing the subject. 

"You decide what you're wearing tomorrow?" 

"Tomorr--oh." Tomorrow is his last day of work. Stiles had forgotten. "No, not yet. You should go as a vampire." 

"I'm not a vampire, Stiles," Derek says grumpily, and then his eyes widen and he says, "I'm not going! It's the full moon the day after Halloween!" 

"You have to," Stiles tells him. "It's required. No exceptions for vampirism." 

"It's required for staff," Derek says. "And that isn't a rule, it isn't actually compulsory. Dan lies." 

"And required for my boyfriend," Stiles says, and carefully doesn't look at Derek as he speaks. 

"Oh," Derek says after a silence that Stiles is convinced is _never going to end_ , and Stiles takes that as his cue to burst out with his pre-rehearsed, "Allison is going!" 

And Allison has known Scott way less time than Derek has known Stiles, if you include all that time Stiles didn't know Derek's name, so-- 

"Allison is staff," Derek says. 

"Oh. Right." 

"I'm not a vampire," Derek says. 

"I've seen the Vampire Diaries," Stiles says. "You may not wear a ring enchanted to allow you to walk in daylight, but I bet that spell would work just as well on a _leather jacket_." 

He narrows his eyes suspiciously at the jacket Derek is wearing. Indoors. At work. 

"I'm not going as a vampire," Derek says, and when Stiles says, "Oh," again, the startled pleasure in the sound takes him by surprise all over again, unexpected and inevitable as the ripple of waves when a stone lands in a pond. 

"Oh, that's disappointing," Stiles says, embarrassed by the brightness he can't conceal. "I thought you'd make a really good Bella." 

Derek's face twists before he can hide the fact that he gets the joke, so Stiles is the one who's laughing as he leans over the counter for a kiss. 

* 

Stiles spends most of work thinking about his costume for tomorrow night. He knows what he wants to go as, but he can't do it homemade, and he thinks that might be cheating. He might be okay with that. 

When the lights come on for their break, Isaac says, "Dan thinks you're doing really well, you know. He's pleased with you." 

"Okay," Stiles says blankly, and for a second, he can't imagine why he wouldn't be doing well. When he remembers, he says, "Hah. I'm going to show _her_." 

"Angelica Huston?" Isaac asks, because he has known Stiles for many a year. 

"No," Stiles says. "Laura Hale." 

And he texts off a demand that she use her free passes tomorrow night. 

And then he spends the next eternity of work thinking about tomorrow night, about Derek and Laura showing up at the party, about Laura's imaginary amused judgement, his friends' amused disbelief that Derek is there with Stiles, that Derek is with Stiles at all. 

Stiles kind of has trouble believing it himself, which is maybe why he hasn't told anybody. Maybe it's just because Derek is his first boyfriend, and he doesn't know how. Stiles hasn't had anything even resembling a relationship before. Today's the closest he's come to having sex in the cool, clear light of day, to choosing to do that with somebody who might, actually, mean something, although maybe not, who knows. Stiles has wanted this for a really long time, but he's never had anything like this before, and he doesn't know what he wants, there's no way he can, and Derek hasn't told his mom about Stiles, but Stiles hasn't mentioned Derek's existence to his dad, and--he hasn't even told Scott, he realises, and then he stops thinking and starts making people scream again. 

* 

Halloween dawns bright and crisp and clear, and Stiles is over at Laura's as soon as she opens. 

"Hey--" he starts, as he breezes through the door, and then he stops, because Derek is there, looking at him expectantly. There's a smile lurking around the corners of his mouth, hiding itself away, and Stiles thinks about going over there and biting at him until he has no choice but to let it go, until they both stop caring that Laura is sitting at the register watching them, but he has other things to do today, and he can't spare the time. "Hey, uh--" he says, making a beeline towards Derek and going in for a kiss he doesn't let Derek deepen, "--can I talk to Laura?" 

Laura's eyebrows shoot up as Derek's snap down, but Derek takes her place at the register, however reluctantly, and Stiles drags Laura away and makes her give him things, because Derek says she likes that, right? 

She laughs when he tells her that. "Sure, Stiles," she says cheerfully. "I'll add it to D's bill." 

Stiles kisses Derek briefly on his way out, ignoring Derek's mouth again, opening to ask a question this time. He needs to get home; his dad should be breaking for lunch. 

*

The putty is more difficult to use than Laura had made it seem, but Stiles gets it right eventually. He's turning to leave the bathroom when he catches sight of his own reflection unexpectedly and grins helplessly, wider at the sight of the teeth in his mouth. 

Dan shakes his head when he sees Stiles, but when Stiles says, "Laura helped me out. Solid, right? She's coming by to check it out," Dan lets him pass without comment. 

The screams sound louder right from the start of the night, and Stiles does his part to win more. Dan has moved his station to one of the darkened corridors between rooms. It's the first time Stiles has worked without a barrier between him and the visitors, and it's a little strange lunging at people out of concealing shadows and seeing the excited terror as they realise he's real, he's right _there_ , but it's more of a thrill than cackling and running a chainsaw behind a rope. Pale, scared faces whizz by in a blur, and Stiles doesn't notice the time passing, doesn't realise he's trying to terrify his dad until his dad grins at him. 

"Hey!" Stiles looks around, but nobody else is here. "What are you doing?" 

"Always come by on Halloween," his dad says. That's true, but his dad comes by to make sure there's no trouble; he never goes through the attraction. "I've never had to come inside to see you before." 

"Oh," Stiles says, and then, annoyed, "Dad!" 

His dad peers around at the shadowy corners. "So where are you hiding this guy?" 

"Dad," Stiles complains, long-suffering, and hustles his dad onwards and out. 

The next person he recognises is Marlene. "Oh," she says when she sees him, voice blank with surprise. 

She's escorting Sarah and two other girls Stiles doesn't recognise. Sarah reaches a hand out to touch his face, but Stiles backs away before she can. 

"No touching," he reminds her. "That's illegal. My dad's the sheriff, you know. I don't want him arresting me for breaking the rules of haunting on Halloween." 

Marlene sniffs, and hurries her small group out of Stiles' sphere. The children watch him over their shoulders, dragging their feet, but she sweeps them out, and then Stiles is looking into Laura's grinning face. 

She's with two people Stiles doesn't recognise. Derek has an annoyingly large family. Stiles is never going to remember everybody's name. 

"Mom, Dad," Laura says. Stiles is pretty sure he'll be able to remember _those_ names. "This is Stiles." 

"Hi," Stiles squeaks. 

"Good face," Derek's mom says, "but maybe work on the voice." 

"Will do," Stiles says, trying a low rumble out. He ends up sounding like himself if he had a three-pack-a-day habit and the flu. He coughs, and adds, more normally, "Nice to meet you." 

"Don't tell Derek," Derek's dad says. "He'd kill us." 

Laura laughs, and then they're gone, and Stiles stares after them, wanting to call them back so he can get it _right_. 

He breathes out, and several more groups pass him by. They're probably all Hales, but Stiles doesn't recognise any of them, and he doesn't _care_ , not until a single visitor stops in front of him. 

"I ditched Peter and Alex," Derek says, eyes tracing over Stiles' face. "You better appreciate me." 

"I do," Stiles says, and then he just stares at Derek, because Stiles thinks there might be an _actual_ law against touching people in haunted houses, and he doesn't want to get fired when he can do all the touching he wants in fifteen minutes. 

"Eddie Quist?" Derek asks, though Stiles knows he doesn't look anything like Robert Picardo, doesn't, in fact look like any werewolf from the Howling. Ginger, maybe. 

"Yeah," he agrees, because that _was_ the idea. 

And maybe he won't be able to touch Derek when the House closes down, because Derek's cousins are here, and Derek's parents, and maybe Stiles' dad is still sticking around hoping for a glimpse of Derek, and if he doesn't have a guarantee he can do it then, he should just do it now, should reach out and touch Derek, even though he isn't allowed. 

Derek wouldn't mind. Derek wouldn't tell. 

"Have you been standing here all night?" Derek asks. "Is that all you're going to do?" 

And it isn't, so Stiles reaches out and strokes his fingers down Derek's side, just that, and Derek's breath catches and his body is shoving Stiles backwards, through the black gauze that hangs from the ceiling, not stopping until the thin wall shakes under the impact of their weight. 

It's darker here than any of the corners Stiles had chosen to hide; it's a good place to kiss somebody like you're never going to stop. So that's what Stiles does, ignoring the footsteps that troop past, ignoring the cheers and whoops the staff let out when the last visitor of the year leaves the House. 

It's Scott's voice that draws Stiles away in the end, calling, "Hey, buddy, you in here? Party's starting!" 

"Yeah," Stiles answers hoarsely, and pulls Derek out of the gauzy draperies to meet Scott. 

" _Hey_ , Hot--Derek," Scott says, looking like he wants to swallow his own tongue. And then his face clears, and he says, "Hi, Derek. I liked your old name better, but it would be embarrassing to call you that now." 

"Old name?" Derek asks. 

"Never mind," Stiles says. "I don't think you two need to know each other after all." 

His dad isn't around when they stumble out into the cool night air. Derek's parents have vanished too, thank Christ, but Laura is still there, making out with Dan on the hood of his car while Isaac lugs the wood for the bonfire that Dan is supposed to be building. 

"You didn't dress up," Stiles complains, not meaning it. 

"Vampire," Derek claims. "Daylight vampire. They look just like you and me." 

"Lame," Stiles decides, but he can't give it the attention it deserves. 

There are a couple dozen too many people milling around for what Stiles has in mind, so when he sees the Haunted Hayride zooming past, he feels totally justified in tumbling Derek onto the straw and letting it carry them out into the field, away from all the noise and light and activity. 

Stiles is shoving Derek down into the bed of the trailer, but Derek's hands are an incitement to more than that, pulling him closer and teasing under his ripped shirt, under the waistband of his jeans. Stiles hardly notices the bump of the trailer as the engine stops, but he hears Boyd yelling, "Stiles, my hayride is not a _room_!" 

It just doesn't matter much, not when Boyd's jogging footsteps are fading quickly away and Derek doesn't even seem to have noticed anybody else was ever there. 

And now nobody _is_ , so Stiles pushes Derek away, up onto his palms, and reaches down to unsnap buttons, reaches into his jeans to pull out his cock. It's hard and hot and leaking before Stiles touches it, before he starts to work it fast and easy, and Derek seems to like that, because his chest is shuddering and his mouth is open and panting, and Stiles stretches up so he can bite into it, pull a deep groan out of Derek. When Derek's arms start shaking too, Stiles lies back against the rough straw so that he can watch Derek's face in the glow of light from the abandoned cab, watch as he loses his breath and closes his eyes and crashes onto his elbows as he comes all over Stiles. 

Stiles is still in his jeans, and Derek isn't doing anything about it, heaving over him in the aftermath, so Stiles squirms around, manages to get his fly open, and that's when Derek starts rocking against him, spreading his come everywhere until he acknowledges Stiles' choked out moans, gives him a hard thigh to rub against, something he can use. Stiles' nails claw at Derek's back as his hips roll helplessly. He blinks fuzzily up at the dark sky, at the waxing moon, and then Derek tilts his head back and scrapes sharp teeth over Stiles' throat, and somehow it's still unexpected when he comes all over himself. 

Or maybe that's just his new stupidity, because he thinks he might've lost a couple million braincells back there. 

Derek is still biting gently at the side of Stiles' neck, and it's sending some interesting aftershocks through his body. His hips twitch, and fuck, they're a mess. A flush races through him at the thought of what he's done to Derek, gone as quickly as it arrived, leaving lazy satisfaction in its wake. 

"We should--" Stiles starts, and then a high, excited voice shouts, "Cousin Derek!" 

Derek's body jerks as a small weight lands on his back, and when he rears up to throw it off Stiles thinks for a second that Derek wore a costume after all. He makes a better werewolf than Stiles does. 

"Oh," Stiles says disbelievingly, and then Alex bounces up, clambering into the trailer beside them, and no matter how much of a discount Laura might give them, Stiles doesn't think the Hale family costume budget stretches to this, to lengthening claws and blunt, growing fangs. 

"I found you!" Alex cries in excitement, voice distorted by the teeth. "You tried to run, but I found you!" 

"Good job--" 

"I smelled you!" 

Derek drops his head into his hands, and when he raises it, his face is human and blazing with embarrassment. "Please don't do that, kid," he mutters. "Seriously." 

Stiles wants to laugh, but he's glad he doesn't when Alex's dad pops up behind them. 

"Sorry!" Peter says, and plucks Alex off Derek. 

"Right," Derek says glumly. "Of course you are." 

"Your mother was right," Peter says as he leads Alex away. "This has been a lot of fun." 

Derek's eyes widen. "Mom isn't here," he says, like he can make the world flat with nothing more than a wish. "This isn't happening." 

"Sorry," Stiles says, and starts to laugh. It trails off into hysterical hiccups after a while, but when those fade he can still feel the amusement waiting, so he figures he'll deal. 

"So," Derek says warily. 

"Okay," Stiles says quietly, listening to the distant revelry, watching Derek's face. "I'm okay." 

He sees the moment Derek believes that, the moment the tension leaches from his body, and that's when he decides that enough is enough, and they need new jeans. When he looks back towards the building, the bonfire is kindling, and everybody he knows is surely gathered around it. 

"Let's drive home and change," he decides, and then he looks inside the cab. "Is this thing a space shuttle?" 

"It might be some kind of forklift," Derek says doubtfully. 

"Can you drive it?" 

"You've got spares here, right?" 

"Indoors," Stiles says. "Past your mother." 

"Yeah," Derek says gloomily, looking up at the moon so he doesn't have to look at Stiles while he breaks the news. "She already knows. Mom knows everything." 

"I feel like you should have some kind of werewolf power that could fix this," Stiles says. 

"Like what?" 

"I don't know. If you were really a vampire, you could fly." 

"Vampires don't exist," Derek tells him, the fond argumentativeness more reassuring than anything else could be. "But I could run home, leave you to face my mom alone." 

"That would be better for me," Stiles tells him. "Your mom loves me. And then I can ditch you at the dinnertable with my dad." 

"You can't ditch a werewolf," Derek says. "Not even a baby one." 

And that's an argument Stiles doesn't really want to win, so he lets Derek's arm settle around his shoulders, and they begin the trek towards the horizon, towards the sparking light of the fire. 

end


End file.
